


and all their words for glory

by leov66



Series: until you break, until you yield [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Intimacy, background grief/mourning, background self-destructive tendencies, but its not allura or lance, implied mild sexual content, overall this is pretty sad and reflective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 18:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12893862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leov66/pseuds/leov66
Summary: Some part of her pretends it’s only one of many starlit nights on Altea, the wind is blowing through her open windows and they spend their days fooling around in the gardens and under open skies, without a care in the world, free, unburdened. They have no scars and the stars are only a faraway dream.everything has its price, doesn't it?





	and all their words for glory

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [@euphra-sie](https://euphra-sie.tumblr.com) in case uh. anybody wanted to hit me up

Nothing could ever be easy, she’s learnt that the hardest way. To lose everything she held dear wasn’t enough; no, she woke up to a world torn apart by suffering and took it upon herself to _fix it_ , to carry on her father’s legacy like she was always meant to. No matter what happened, she carried on because it was the least she could do for the home she once had that now was nothing more but ash and dust amongst the stars she has loved so fondly. It was her duty, her drive, her deepest desire to bring back the balance and peace, and step after step, planet after planet, their mission went on, a spark they ignited that fuelled a fire in the whole galaxy.

 

Duells, negotiations, battles, she could manage it all, but not _this_. All the promises she’s made to herself, promises that she would never let her heart determine her decisions, not like that, and it doesn’t mean anything anymore. His arms are the only place where she can fall asleep peacefully, he’s the one who tends to her wounds now. She might be the heart of Voltron, but he surely is hers. (What good would a cold one be, anyway?)

 

The love keeps her strong, gives her the motivation to always keep fighting. It reminds her of Keith and Shiro, how they held onto each other, silent but unwavering, always by each other’s side, up until Keith got himself killed. (Most of the time, it feels like he took most of Shiro by it, too.) That’s part of why she stays in Lance’s arms in the night, afraid of what might be if she lost him. It’s dangerous for the fact that she sees exactly what would happen if she did, the dull stare, the apathy, the vengeance as the only thing keeping their leader functional.

 

“Stop thinking, try to sleep,” Lance murmurs against her neck, obviously not asleep, either. It still feels weird without all the hair she cut off (well, _he_ did, but still), overexposed and cold. His mouth is warm on her skin, and it serves as a distraction from the dark thoughts. 

 

“Trust me, I’m trying,” is all she can manage in return. He smiles at her when she turns around, and it’s one of the best sights she could find in the whole universe. With one hand on his cheek, she kisses him, slowly, because they have time for once. Immediately, he deepens the kiss, hungry for more, desperate to hold her, touch her, caresses her bare thigh, pulls her closer.

 

Some part of her pretends it’s only one of many starlit nights on Altea, the wind is blowing through her open windows and they spend their days fooling around in the gardens and under open skies, without a care in the world, free, unburdened. They have no scars and the stars are only a faraway dream. That is the future they could’ve had but didn’t because fate had other plans. Theirs is the hardship, the fear that comes with the possibility of losing each other one day after another, and that’s why there’s rarely something gentle in the way they love. 

 

Lance’s hand is in her hair now, and he pulls at it just enough to make it felt, sending little shivers of pleasure down her spine. After all this time, he knows her just as well as she does, if not better. It’s good, because she’s pulled back to reality, back to him and not just a _could’ve been_.

 

“You know I love you, right?”, Lance says. The sheets always smell like him these days, and as long as he’s there, it’s a good thing. (She doesn’t want to think about Shiro who held that damn jacket as if his life depended on it when they returned to the ship, Shiro who refused to sleep in his room and denied everyone access to it, too, Shiro who, in a bout of frustration and grief, ripped up the bedsheets until they were barely scraps of material and couldn’t let them go for longer than necessary.)

 

“I do. And I love you, you know that?”

 

He nods, pressing a kiss to her cheek with ease. The kind of intimacy that came to them with time is what terrifies her and makes it all worth it at the same time. Nothing could make her let go of _this_ now.

**Author's Note:**

> **comments and kudos, my guys**


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